


pick me from the dark and pull me from the grave

by acemartinblackwood (semnai)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Body Horror, M/M, Manipulation, Pre-Relationship, Spiders, Web!Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-13 21:53:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19259863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semnai/pseuds/acemartinblackwood
Summary: As Martin raises his hand to knock on the solid oak door of the flat, it swings open on him.“Martin,” Annabelle Cane says brightly, “it’s a pleasure to see you, please come in.”___Martin, driven by a fierce desire to protect, decides to take matters into his own hands.





	pick me from the dark and pull me from the grave

**Author's Note:**

> Set between Season 3 and Season 4. Un-beta'd. Title from the song "Still Feel." by Half Alive

As Martin raises his hand to knock on the solid oak door of the flat, it swings open on him.

“Martin,” Annabelle Cane says brightly, “it’s a pleasure to see you, please come in.”

“Er, right. Thanks.” He’s only ever seen her from a distance before, usually in near darkness, after he managed to successfully track her down several weeks ago. He’d been following her, as discreetly as he could, to find out where she lived, and to a lesser extent what she was doing in the area. He had only managed to figure out the first part, but he had only his suspicions on the second.

Martin is fairly tall, but he has to look up at her to meet her eyes, and right before Martin blinks, her face is _covered_ in eyes. But he blinks, and her face is seemingly normal: two bright, green eyes with large glasses, a pointed nose, a welcoming smile, wavy, black hair pulled back into a ponytail, and the thin, white stitches almost like lacework on the side of her forehead and face, disappearing into her hairline.

He follows her into a brightly lit sitting room, with flowery wallpaper and two armchairs on either side of a large overstuffed couch. Martin chooses one of the armchairs, sitting down stiffly, and glancing around the room. It looked like it belonged to an old lady at one point; it didn’t suit Annabelle. What did suit her were the gossamer strands of spiderwebs along the walls, covering Victorian portraits in gold frames, in the corners of the room, across the ceiling. He could feel the eyes of the spiders staring down at him, wholly different than the suffocating weight of the Beholding’s Eye. Instead, it feels like sitting in the middle of a forest at midnight next to a campfire, the whole of the occupants of that forest gathered at the edges of the light, watching and waiting. All anticipation, patience, and potential energy. Despite this, Martin doesn’t feel on edge, and actually relaxes a little, but that fact does manage to make him slightly uncomfortable.

Annabelle sits on the couch, almost awkwardly if compensating for additional limbs Martin can’t see.

“Can I get you anything? Tea?”

Martin shakes his head. “No, no thank you.” Still looking around about him, he gestures to the room, before looking back at her. “This is… nice.”

“Aren’t you a dear,” Annabelle says kindly, her eyes warm. A spider crawls from the pillow propped up next to her onto her arm, and up to her shoulder. Martin cannot help but feel like its… judging him. “I’m just renting the place for a short while. I only really moved in about a month ago. I’m usually a little more transient, but I have some important business to take care of that was going to take longer than usual. Speaking of which, I’m so glad you came. We had been hoping you would.”

“I—I figured you probably knew I had found you. That I had been looking for you. Am I correct that your Patron is,” Martin glances at the spider on Annabelle’s shoulder, “for lack of a better word, _interested_ in me? I mean,” Martin hurriedly continues, “I’ve been having these… dreams, and in the past month, I’ve started seeing spiderwebs everywhere, sometimes on people and they don’t seem to notice them, and, well, I have always loved spiders.”

“I think you know the answer to that, Martin. Why else seek me out, and willingly enter my flat without fear for your life?”

Martin bit his bottom lip. “I’d rather hear it from you.”

“Very well. The Web is _fascinated_ in you, Martin. It has been. It has been weaving through your life, weaving itself into it, for years now, since you were young. You’ve always been a natural. And people continue to underestimate you, as Elias recently discovered, much to his embarrassment.” Annabelle leaned forward. “What will you do about that?”

Martin sighs, and runs a hand through his hair.

“I want protection. For Jon…” Martin swallows, pain passing through his chest as if a member of the Cult of Lightless Flame had placed a hand there. He tries again. “With Elias away and Peter Lukas,” he grimaces, “apparently in charge now, though we never see him, the Institute is exposed. I don’t know what Peter Lukas wants, or why Elias put him in charge. I don’t seem to know anything, and I _hate_ feeling so helpless. We’re relatively safe if we’re in the Institute, but I’ve noticed other… factions have started hanging around. I’m—I’m afraid they’re going to make a move, but I can’t protect the others by myself.”

Annabelle nods understandably. “But we could, through you.”

“And the Beholding and the Web are longtime allies, or so I’ve heard. But what I want to know is,” Martin leans forward, unable to stop the pleading tone creeping into his voice, “will I still be me? Please, be honest, as—as much as you are able to be. I know the Web is manipulation personified, so that may be a tall order, but…” Martin shrugs his shoulders, with a short sound of humorless amusement.

Annabelle purses her lips sympathetically, shaking her head. “Does that really matter to you Martin, as long as they’re safe?” she asks. “As long as the Archivist is safe?”

Abruptly, Martin’s ears pop, like the air pressure in the room plunged frighteningly fast. The lights appear to flicker, and as Martin blinks, Annabelle has eight eyes, too many limbs, and a smile too wide for her face. Her… _it’s_ head tilts, all eight eyes focused on him, like it’s appraising him. He feels webs wrapping tightly around his torso, his arms, his legs, his neck, and around his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a large spider on his armrest, having crawled up from somewhere on the floor. He knows he should be panicking, trying to desperately get out of this small, eerily cozy room. But he’s not panicking. His heart beats steady and his breathing is calm, because he knows his answer.

“No, I guess it doesn’t.” Frowning slightly, Martin huffs in annoyance. “Was the manipulation _really_ necessary?”

And with that, the room, and Annabelle, abruptly returns to normal, as far as a room covered in spiders and cobwebs can be. The large, fuzzy spider still sits on his armrest. Annabelle is still smiling, but it’s a warm, pleased smile.

“Wonderful,” she says, as if Martin had just agreed to go out to lunch with her. “And of course. Fair’s fair I return the favor.”

“I—I didn’t,” Martin sputters, but Annabelle just shrugs. Martin sighs, and closes his eyes for a second before looking back at her. “Well,” he says wearily, “are we settled then, yeah? In agreement, or—or what have you?”

“Yes, I would say we are. You are quite right in your suspicions that those that worship the other entities are planning to attack the Institute. However, the greater threat will come from within.”

Martin narrows his eyes, momentarily confused. “Not Elias, he—I—we got him put away. There’s only—Oh.” He rolls his eyes. “Peter. What’s _he_ planning?” Martin asks, unable to keep a note of disgust out of his tone. “He’s only stopped by to _chat_ when he first started and since then he has been non-existent from the entire Institute as far as I can tell, doing god knows what, for more than a month now.”

“As the those of the Lonely do best. We do not know exactly what the Lonely is planning, but it sees you as appealing, Martin. Whatever the Lonely’s plan is, we are sure Lukas will want it to involve you.”

“So, you want me to…”

“Mother would like you to agree to whatever the Lonely asks. Lukas will most likely come to you, offering help if you work under him.”

Martin shifts in the armchair uncomfortably. “And the Web wants me to go along with it. Is the Web sure about this?”

“Yes,” she says solemnly, nodding.

“And I’ll report back to you?”

“There’s no need, Martin. If you know, so does Mother.” Her mood suddenly shifts, and she leans forward, reaching out to clasp Martin’s hand in her own. “Do not let your guard down around the Lonely though, Martin. It will not know where your loyalties truly lie until it’s too late, until you’ve strung your web about it, but its fog obscures many things. Do not get lost.” Annabelle squeezes his hand, her features filled with concern.

“I’ll try not to, but—but I’m not sure I even know what that means,” Martin says, looking away, his eyes falling once again on the large, furry spider resting on Martin’s armrest. As if sensing Martin’s gaze, it crawls down onto his lap. Martin, his hand still in Annabelle’s, fights the urge to pet it.

After several more moments, she stands, gangly, and because she is still holding his hand, Martin rises with her, the spider clinging to his leg. It climbs from his leg, to his back, to his shoulder, before disappearing.

“One last thing, Martin, before we leave this room,” she says, quietly. Her green eyes bore into his, and he can’t seem to look away. They’re standing barely a foot apart, and she leans down, brushing a soft kiss to his forehead. As she steps back, she squeezes his hand one last time and lets go. “I never answered your question before.” She lets her words hover in the air between them for a second before continuing with a small smile, “You will remain yourself.”

And without another word, she turns and leaves the room, to the front door. As just a fraction of his anxiety and stress dissolve with her words, Martin gives one last sweeping glance at the spiderweb covered room before following.

“It was a pleasure Martin,” Annabelle says, holding open the door for him.

Martin hesitates at the threshold. “Yes—uh thank you. For your help.”

“Certainly,” Annabelle says with one last smile, “We are family now, after all. Goodbye, brother.”

As Martin walks to the nearest tube station, a whole heap of emotions threatens to overwhelm him, but the greatest is relief. Relief that he can now protect the others in the Institute, that he can protect _Jon_. Even though physically he feels no different, if Martin closes his eyes and focuses within himself, he thinks can sense a presence with him. In him. A part of him.

He looks at the time on his phone and mentally shrugs. Its way past visiting hours, but he’s fairly certain he can convince the hospital staff to let him in.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. :) Web!Martin is something that I've been dying to write, so of course it had to be my first TMA fic. And I discovered writing stuff with horror-ish elements is so much fun.
> 
> Find me on tumblr @acemartinblackwood 
> 
> I'm considering writing another that takes place in the indeterminate future, when Jon finally finds out that Martin is affiliated with another power. That one will most definitely be more slash heavy.


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